


small town friday night

by poetictragedy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Car Accidents, Cuddling, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M, Pain, boo boos, but everything's going to be okay!!, some mild sexual nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Friday and Stiles is hoping to relax for once, without a murderous lizard or the loose, or someone fighting. He plans to spend the night with Derek and things are fine… until Stiles gets a call that flips his world upside down. </p><p>His night goes from great to horrible with that one call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	small town friday night

”Dad! I think dinner is ready!” Stiles makes a face as he calls out and stabs a piece of broccoli with a fork, making a triumphant noise when the prongs cut through it with ease. He shuts the burner off, shakes the vegetable off the end of the fork, and grabs one of the plates from the counter. After stirring the chicken and vegetable mix, Stiles spoons some onto the middle of his plate and sets it down, repeating the process with the other plate.

Sheriff Stilinski pulls his holster on over his shoulders and raises a brow at Stiles when he turns around, a plate in each hand and a grin on his face. The smell of chicken and broccoli fills his nostrils and the sheriff smiles at his son as he makes his way to the table, sitting at his usual spot.

“Smells good,” he says, thinking that it smells too good to be healthy. “Is this that tofu that  _tastes_  like chicken or is it actually meat?” 

Grinning, Stiles sits down with his own plate. “It’s actually meat, but it’s chicken and I got the low sodium soy sauce, you know, so we can at least _feel_  like it’s healthy. Plus,” he says, before shoving a forkful of stir-fry into his mouth, “it’s got vegetables, so that’s good, right?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“ _Sorry_.” Stiles grins and chews the bite in his mouth, swallowing. “But we are drinking water, because that’s good for us. Water does a body good or something like that.”

“Does that mean you’re paying attention in school?” Sheriff Stilinski smiles and starts to eat, humming happily as he chews and swallows. He takes a long sip of water and watches Stiles eat, shaking his head at the way his son just shoves food into his mouth.

Stiles swallows and drinks half his water. “I know you’d love that, but I pay the same amount of attention to school as I did before,” he answers, giving a shit-eating-grin before finishing his food.

“Did you even chew that,” the sheriff starts, cocking his head to the side, staring at Stiles, “or did you just inhale it?”

“Inhaled it.” 

The sheriff can’t help but smile. “You might want to start chewing your food.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” Stiles gasps like he’s offended and then he laughs before standing to get more food, piling two spoonfuls onto the middle of his plate. “I’m a human vacuum when it comes to food. You should know this, dad.”

“Oh, I know.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs and shakes his head before taking a few more bites of his food. He’s about to go in for the last one when his pager goes off and he groans, dropping his fork onto his plate. Licking his lips, he grabs the pager from his hip and looks at it, shaking his head again. “Gotta go in early, looks like,” he mutters as he pushes away from the table.

Stiles frowns and sets his plate down on the table. “Already? I thought you still had at least an hour before you had to start your shift,” he says.

“My partner needs me,” is the only response Stiles gets and he huffs. 

“Okay, fine.” Stiles making a shooing motion toward the door and follows his dad through the living room, leaning against the wall, watching him shrug into his jacket.

Sheriff Stilinski fixes his collar and turns to look at Stiles. “You’re not going to go anywhere tonight, are you?”

“Wasn’t planning on it. I was going to stay in for once, maybe watch a movie. You know, while my friends are out having their  _own_  lives,” Stiles answers, shoving both hands into his pockets as he crosses one ankle over the other.

“Good,” his father says, with a smile, “and if you do go anywhere, don’t do anything to get yourself into trouble. I don’t want to haul your ass back home in the cruiser, do you understand me?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls a hand out of his pocket, saluting his father. “Roger that, sheriff dad. Dad-sheriff.”

“Have a good night.” Sheriff Stilinski laughs and grabs his keys, giving Stiles a small wave before stepping out of the house and onto the porch. Stiles follows him to the door and watches him get into the cruiser, eyes following it until he’s pulled out into the road.

Once his dad is gone, Stiles shuts the door and runs a hand over the back of his head, huffing as he makes his way to the kitchen. He scrapes his dad’s leftovers onto his own plate and sets the empty one into the sink before going to get a can of soda from the fridge. After grabbing his food, Stiles goes into the living room and plops down on the couch, sighing as he grabs the remote.

Stiles eats and sets his empty plate on the coffee table, curling up on the couch when he’s done. He watches Jeopardy and calls out answers loudly, cursing when he gets them wrong and fist-pumping when he gets them right. Just when he’s contemplating entering one of the high school tournaments, Stiles hears the door open and shut, the noise causing him to sit up straight on the couch.

“Hello?” Stiles calls out as he stands up, making his way to the foyer. When he rounds the corner, he nearly screams when he sees Derek standing in the doorway, putting a hand over his heart. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Derek grins, flashing his stupid, white teeth. “Did I scare you?”

“Dude! You don’t just _come into_  someone’s house without saying a word!” Stiles’ hand is still clutched over his heart (which is beating harder than it should be; if he has a heart attack, he’s so blaming Derek) and he swallows thickly, watching as the grin on Derek’s face grows.

“Sorry,” he says and Stiles just shakes his head, eyes narrowed.

Then Stiles realizes that Derek used the door. “ _Whoa_! You used the door instead of the window,” he says, staring at Derek in awe. 

“Was I not supposed to?” Derek’s forehead creases and Stiles moves forward, wrapping both arms around his neck, crashing their lips together.

“You used the door,” Stiles repeats when he eases away, grinning. “You’ve evolved from total creeper to a creeper-gentleman, of sorts.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist. “A creeper gentleman?”

“Yeah, you know, because you still have that serial killer vibe but you used the door to come in, instead of the window. Which is creepy… and it’s what serial killers do.” 

“You spend a lot of time with serial killers, Stiles?” Derek asks, borderline amused.

“Not lately, no.” Stiles grins and kisses Derek again, pulling him toward the living room before falling back onto the couch, laughing loudly. “Come here,” he says as he scoots to the top of the couch, holding his arms out for Derek.

Derek toes his boots off and nudges them around to the front of the couch with his feet, peeling his jacket away from his shoulders and shaking it off. He lets it fall onto the coffee table and he crawls over the end of the couch, laying on top of Stiles, their bodies aligning perfectly. A pair of arms circle around his shoulders and a hand moves to the back of his head, causing Derek to let out a contented sigh.

“You were watching Jeopardy,” Derek says but it sounds like a question to Stiles, so he nods his head and tangles his fingers in Derek’s dark locks, tugging him down to kiss his lips. Their mouths brush together and Stiles makes a noise in the back of his throat, scratching along Derek’s scalp until he growls, giving him a warning.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles licks his lips and nods. “Do you have a problem with me getting some knowledge?”

“I could hear you saying ‘fuck you Brenda’ and saying that you were right when you clearly weren’t. So how’s that ‘getting knowledge,’ exactly?” 

“You don’t know that I wasn’t right,” Stiles says, gasping when he feels Derek’s stubble brush across his jaw before his lips are on Stiles’ neck. “I mean, um, just because you have super wolf hearing doesn’t mean you know everything. Or that you can eavesdrop on someone’s private Jeopardy time.”

Derek hums and Stiles can feel it vibrate through his chest. “The answer was Greece; you said it was Spain,” he whispers, scruff scraping along Stiles’ cheek as he moves up, kissing just underneath his ear. “How are they similar?”

“Well,” Stiles huffs, moving his hands into the seriously deep dip between Derek’s shoulder blades. When Derek makes a soft, encouraging noise, Stiles closes his eyes and sighs, tilting his head to the side, giving the werewolf full access to his neck. “They’re both places in the world and their food is _amazing_.”

“That doesn’t count.” Stiles is about to open his mouth and protest that yes, it does fucking count and that it’s a very valid answer to Derek’s question, when he feels teeth scrape along the lobe of his ear. He shudders and pushes his lips together, fingertips scrabbling against the fabric of Derek’s shirt, either looking for purchase or trying - in vain - to pull it up the werewolf’s back.

Stiles moans and arches his back when Derek bites his ear. “This -  _ah_  - wasn’t what I was planning on doing in the living room. On the couch my father and I sit on frequently,” he manages, gripping Derek’s shirt between his fingers.

“Then what do you want to do?” The words are right there at Stiles’ ear, breath falling hot against the shell, and he shudders, at a loss for words for once.

“We could watch a movie and maybe cuddle. Cuddling is good, right?” Derek makes a noise that sounds like an agreement, but Stiles keeps pushing the idea. “I mean, even werewolves need to cuddle every now and then, right? To keep their wolf side in check or whatever.”

Chuckling, Derek kisses Stiles’ neck and drags his teeth over the skin. “Cuddling is fine with me, but I don’t want to watch some stupid movie like we always do,” he mumbles, nudging the tip of his nose just underneath Stiles’ jaw before pulling back.

“What constitutes as stupid?”

“Anything dealing with werewolves.” 

Okay, so, Stiles was maybe expecting that answer but how can Derek hate movies about werewolves? Sure, they didn’t have all their facts and they were a little off on a lot of things but they were good entertainment. Stiles thought Derek would love the movies, that’s the only reason he suggests watching them so much.

Stiles turns his head and looks up at Derek. “Fine, no werewolves,” he grumbles as he moves a hand between their faces to push Derek’s bangs away from his forehead. He runs his fingertips down the side of the older man’s face as he thinks, twisting his mouth up at the side. “How about we watch Friday The 13th?”

“Does it have any references to werewolves in it?” Stiles thinks about that and then shakes his head, fingertips dragging along Derek’s stubble. “Then I guess I’ll watch it with you,” Derek grumbles, turning to bite playfully at Stiles’ fingers and he he swears — fucking swears — that he felt inhumanly sharp teeth nip at his skin.

“Gotta get off me so I can put it in the DVD player.”

Derek rolls his eyes and stands up, helping Stiles to his feet before laying down, stretching out until his feet are propped up on the arm of the couch. He spreads his legs a bit and folds his arms behind his head, watching as Stiles bends down to go through their library of movies. 

When Stiles finally finds the right case, he lets out a noise of victory and pops it into the player, grabbing the remote on his way back to the couch. He smiles and laughs when Derek shifts out of his position to lay on his side with his back pressed against the couch before taking his place in front of his boyfriend.

After pressing play and laying the remote on the floor, Stiles folds a hand under his cheek and reaches around to grab Derek’s with the other, pulling it around until it’s pressed against his chest. He laces their fingers and makes a happy noise when Derek lays his head against Stiles’, squeezing his hand lightly as the opening credits start to play.

Stiles falls asleep half an hour into the movie and he doesn’t wake up once, not even when a girl on the screen screams as loud as she can. He stirs a little and pushes himself back against Derek but stays asleep for the most part, until the phone rings. The shrill sound pulls Stiles out of his dream and he pants heavily, looking around the room for a second until the noise comes again.

“Stupid phone,” Stiles mumbles as he pushes Derek’s arms away. He staggers to his feet and yawns loudly, scratching the top of his head as he ambles into the kitchen, grabbing the phone before it stops ringing. “Hello?”

“Stiles?” The woman on the other line sounds familiar and Stiles’ eyebrows knit together as he tries to remember where he’s heard that voice before. “It’s Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom.”

When Stiles hears that he snaps and nods, laughing. “Yeah, hi. Sorry, I was having a moment ‘cause I just woke up from a nap,” he says, yawning quietly. “Is Scott alright? He didn’t break up with Allison again, did he?”

There’s a silence on the other line and Stiles’ stomach drops just a little.

“Scott is fine,” Melissa says and Stiles grips the phone tightly when he hears her take a sharp breath. “I’m actually calling from the hospital,” she explains and her voice sounds tried and sad.

“My dad?” Stiles whispers brokenly, blinking rapidly as he stares at the wall.

Melissa is quiet for a moment and Stiles swallows thickly. “He was in a car accident this evening and he’s in serious condition. I think he’s going to be fine but it’s bad and,” she pauses, clears her throat, “I’m so sorry Stiles.”

Everything goes fuzzy around the edges and Stiles clenches his eyes shut, feeling a few tears stream down his cheeks. His mind immediately takes him to the day he and his father got the call that his mother had passed away and his chest tightens painfully. Melissa is saying something else but Stiles can’t hear her words, just sees an image of his father lying in a hospital bed, broken.

“Stiles, are you there?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m here.” 

“Did you hear what I said?” Melissa’s voice is soft and she sounds concerned.

Shaking his head, Stiles sighs and swallows. “I didn’t, sorry,” he admits.

“I was saying you can come up here and see him, if you want. It can’t be for long but you can check on him and talk to the doctor to see what’s going on.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, numb. “I’ll be up there soon.”

“I’m sorry,” Melissa says and Stiles knows she is. God, he knows how hard it must be for her to have this conversation with him. He thanks her and hangs up, keeping a tight grip on the phone even when it’s on the cradle; Stiles doesn’t let go until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He turns around and looks at Derek, who’s frowning. “I heard,” he says, moving a hand to cup Stiles’ jaw, brushing his thumb along his cheek. “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”

“Please.” The word comes out squeaky and Stiles resists the urge to throw himself into Derek’s arms and sob against his shoulder. He can’t cry, not yet. 

“Okay, we’ll take my car.” Derek moves a hand into Stiles’ and squeezes lightly, pulling him back toward the living room. He drops their hands and goes to grab his boots, slipping them on quickly before picking his jacket up. After shrugging into it, Derek grabs his keys out of the pocket and leads Stiles outside.

They climb into the car quietly and Derek glances at Stiles once before starting the engine and backing out into the road. Once the Camaro is in drive, Derek pushes the gas pedal to the floor and he speeds down the road, slowing down to take a left before heading toward the hospital.

Stiles sits in the passenger seat and looks out the window, keeping quiet the entire ride to the hospital. When Derek pulls up in front of the entrance and tells him to go in, Stiles does it automatically and he doesn’t say anything as he gets out. It worries Derek and he just watches as Stiles walks into the hospital, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him.

After parking the car, Derek goes inside and finds Stiles in the waiting room, sitting in a chair in the furthest corner with a clipboard on his lap. His leg is bouncing up and down, causing the clipboard to rattle, and he’s tapping the end of a pen against his temple. When Derek sits down next to him, Stiles looks up and swallows thickly, eyes glazed with tears.

“They won’t let me see him until the doctors are done examining him,” he explains, dropping his gaze back to the paperwork in his hands. “And I have no idea what any of this shit means. How do they expect a sixteen year old boy to fill this out?”

Derek takes the clipboard and sets it on the empty seat beside him. “Don’t think about that right now. I’m sure Mrs. McCall will help you out with it later, okay?”

Biting on his lip, Stiles nods and sighs, leaning over to lay his head against Derek’s shoulder. His eyes slide shut and he stops bouncing his leg, crossing it over the other one instead. They sit in silence for a while and Derek moves a hand to Stiles’ knee, squeezing it lightly as he listens to the sounds around them, trying to pick out the sheriff’s heartbeat among all the others.

“What if he dies?” The question startles Derek and he turns to look at Stiles, frowning deeply. He doesn’t know how to answer that and he doesn’t even know if he should try to answer it. “What — what if I lose him too?” Stiles’ voice breaks in the middle of the sentence and Derek lifts a hand, fingers brushing his cheeks.

“He’s not going to die,” he whispers, moving his fingertips along Stiles’ jaw slowly.

Stiles huffs and lets out a broken laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“I believe he won’t. How’s that?”

“But you don’t know if he will or not. So he could and your words mean absolutely nothing because I won’t have anyone!” Stiles moves his head away from Derek and pushes himself to his feet, hands going to the back of his head as he paces back and forth. “I won’t have any family. I’ll be a fucking orphan at sixteen, for fuck’s sake!” He’s yelling now, his voice squeaky and breaking with each word.

Derek clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “You have family, outside of blood,” he reminds Stiles, watching as he paces before stopping dead in his tracks. “You still have Scott and Mrs. McCall, the pack.”

“Oh, fuck the pack!” Stiles laughs bitterly and grips at what little of his hair he can, locking eyes with Derek. “The only people in the ‘pack’ that like me are you and Scott. Lydia tolerates me because she’s obeying orders; Jackson fucking  _hates_  my guts; Allison only puts up with me because of Scott,” he says, voice breaking even more. “I’m going to be so fucking alone if I lose him.”

For a moment, Derek sees red and he closes his eyes, pushing his wolf down. He takes a deep, calming breath and exhales slowly, letting his eyes blink open, gaze settling on Stiles once more. The kid looks like he’s about to cry and Derek stands quickly, wrapping Stiles up in his arms, holding him tight.

And Stiles lets Derek hold him for a moment before breaking away. “Pack isn’t blood, Derek,” he whispers, eyes rimmed with tears. “Pack doesn’t know stories about my mother or that I broke my arm in the first grade because I thought I was Superman and I jumped out of a tree.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Derek’s voice is soft and he swallows, moving his hands to grip Stiles’ shoulders. “The pack will be there for you, Stiles,” he whispers, his hands squeezing the boy’s shoulders lightly. “Trust me.”

“Trust you,” Stiles parrots, laughing as he knocks Derek’s arms away. “I’m sorry but three-quarters of your fucking pack hates me. So, excuse me if I’m not going to ‘trust you’ when you say that they’ll be there for me and fucking mean it, because I know that they won’t. It’s just another fucking order they’re following.”

Derek looks around the room and growls, eyes glowing red. “Stiles,” he growls and it’s a warning but Stiles doesn’t fucking care. He stands his ground, juts his jaw out, and then crosses both arms over his chest, giving Derek his best look of defiance. It make work on the other wolves, but it doesn’t work on Stiles Stilinski.

“If you’re going to,” Stiles pauses, looks around, and then turns his attention back to Derek, whose shoulders are shaking, “wolf out on me, I would suggest you go for a walk or something. Let yourself calm down and give me a moment because, if you haven’t noticed,  _my father is in the fucking hospital_.”

“Fine, I’ll go outside.” Derek pushes past Stiles and disappears through the door, his boots stomping against the tile as he walks. After a few seconds, Stiles swallows hard and goes to grab the clipboard, pressing it to his chest as he makes his way out of the room.

Melissa McCall is sitting at the nurses’ station and Stiles lays the clipboard down on the counter, leaning onto it with a sigh. She looks up at him and her brown eyes soften, her lips curving up into a small, sympathetic smile.

“How are you doing?”

Stiles shrugs and rests his chin in his hand. “I wanna see my dad,” he answers, blinking away tears as he chews on the edge of his lip. “Do you know when I can?”

“Should be able to now,” Melissa says as she nods her head toward a door across the hall. “Do you want me to go in there with you?” Stiles shakes his head and swallows, giving his best friend’s mom a soft smile. 

Huffing quietly to himself, Stiles pushes away from the counter and moves toward the door Mrs. McCall motioned to earlier. He swallows thickly and wraps his hand around the doorknob, twisting it as he pushes the door open, peeking his head inside. 

There’s a lot of beeping happening in the room and Stiles steps inside, letting the door shut softly behind him. He looks around the room and notices someone standing at the foot of his father’s bed, holding a chart in their hands. Clearing his throat, Stiles moves over and looks down at his dad, feeling tears swell up in his eyes.

“How’s he doing?” Stiles’ voice cracks and he closes his eyes, swallowing.

“Are you William’s son?” The doctor asks and Stiles just nods his head slowly. “Well, I’m sure someone told you that he was in an accident this evening? A car ran into his cruiser and the driver was drunk. Apparently your father had been chasing him for a while and, well, I don’t know exactly how it happened but your father is in serious condition.”

Stiles bites his lip and turns to look at the doctor. “Is he going to be okay?”

“In time, yes. Your father has several severe injuries that we’re keeping an eye on but, he should pull through. He has some cracked ribs, a broken writs, some mild head trauma, and cuts and bruises all over his body. We’re going to keep an eye on what’s going on with his head and keep check for any internal bleeding or possible problems with his organs.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles sniffles and wipes at his eye before dropping into a chair next to his father’s bed, carefully placing a hand on top of his dad’s. 

The doctor nods and puts the chart back on the end of the bed. “He won’t wake up for a while because we have him heavily sedated, but you can stay in here for a few minutes, if you’d like.”

All Stiles can do is nod and stare at his father, watching the way his chest rises and falls underneath the thin hospital blankets. More tears rim his eyes and he chokes back a sob, giving his dad’s hand a light squeeze when the doctor leaves the room. 

Time passes slowly and Stiles can’t take his eyes away from his father. He listens to the sounds all around him: the oxygen machine, the beeping from the heart monitor and all of the other monitors, and the soft noises coming in from outside. 

When a nurse comes in and informs Stiles that he needs to leave, he almost wants to fight her. Instead, he nods and stands, squeezing his dad’s hand one last time as he leans over to kiss his forehead, promising that he’ll come back tomorrow. He also whispers and begs his dad not to die, feeling tears streak down his cheeks as he pulls away. The nurse smiles and nods at him as he makes his way past her and to the door, hands trembling at his sides.

Stiles passes the nurse’s station and stops to talk to Melissa again, explaining that he doesn’t know any of his father’s information, and she tells him that she’ll worry about it. She shoos him away and he half chuckles, nodding and waving at her as he walks down the hall, shoving both hands into his pockets on his way to the exit.

Derek is leaning against the Camaro when Stiles comes toward him, tears staining his cheeks and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He doesn’t say anything when he gets close, just buries his face against Derek’s chest and fists his hands into the leather of his jacket.

They stand like that for a while until Derek says they need to go home and Stiles nods in agreement, reluctantly letting go before getting into the car. The ride home is faster and just as quiet as the last one, with Stiles staring out the window and Derek glancing at him every so often, frowning slightly.

When they get to the Stilinski house, Derek takes Stiles inside and up to his bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed when they get there. He helps Stiles out of his clothes and sheds his own, tossing them onto the floor before climbing onto the mattress. Derek pulls a blanket over them and presses his chest against Stiles’ back, face buried into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

“He’ll be okay,” Derek whispers as he finds Stiles’ hand under the blanket and laces their fingers together, nuzzling his neck a little. “Promise.” This time, when Derek says that, Stiles halfway believes him and he nods slowly, settling back against the werewolf with a soft sigh.

Stiles is out like a light in no time, exhausted from being at the hospital and all the crying he did in his dad’s room. He lets Derek hold onto him all night and wakes up a few times, whimpering the older man’s name until he shushes him, stroking a hand along his arm to calm him down. Stiles goes back to sleep and his dreams are filled with a pitch black darkness that his dream self gets lost in.


End file.
